


Blockbuster

by SomewhereApart



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, OQ Movie Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-25 18:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: A series of run-ins at the video store. For OQ Movie week.





	1. Avengers

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The Avengers

He’s gone mute. 

Not truly, not technically, but as good as. 

For days now, Henry hasn’t said a word, hasn’t given her more than a grunt or a grumble and that only when directly spoken to. 

This whole thing is a goddamn mess, and it’s all Mary Margaret Blanchard’s fault. What’s the point in some asinine family tree anyway? Does it really matter what names fill your branches when you’ve dug your roots down deep into a life that makes you happy? A life that’s fulfilling, that’s meaningful, and peaceful, where you have respect and autonomy, and privacy, and a perfect, wonderful little family?

 _Henry doesn’t have those things,_ a tiny, traitorous voice whispers. He mustn’t, or he wouldn’t have shut down the way he did when she’d told him, finally, at nine years old, that she didn’t know who his father was. That she’d chosen him to be her son, and that was that, and his real parents were probably vagrants somewhere who couldn’t be bothered to raise a baby (she probably should have phrased that bit differently, in retrospect).

But the point, what _mattered_ , was not the insults she’d slung at his birth parents in a moment of frustrated irritation (she just hadn’t expected this, she hadn’t been _prepared_ for the third degree about who’d provided that Y chromosome when she’d come home from work after a migraine-inducing Tuesday). What mattered was — should be — ought to be — that she brought him home and gave him all the love she had, all the love his birth parents hadn’t. _They_ were a family. She was the whole damn tree, and didn’t he _see_ that?

No. He doesn’t. 

Which is why she’s here at the video store on Saturday afternoon while her son sulks silently at home. 

She bypasses Romance, and Drama, lingers on Children’s but can’t bring herself to bring home any of those godawful cartoons about the denizens of this town (she always has to bite her tongue about the inaccuracies). She settles on Action/Adventure. For as much of a homebody as he is, Henry loves his adventure stories. 

She’s shied away from the fairy tales for obvious reasons, but comics had seemed safe. In all her years, she’s never met a Green Lantern or Wolverine or Black Panther. Comics were a world of adventure they could explore together and without baggage, and she wants that desperately right now. 

Wants to right things between them, heal that rift. Remind him of the good times. The Saturday mornings spent curled up on the couch reading comic books.

A time where him being silent while she talked was about his rapt attention as she brought to life Batman and Poison Ivy for him, rather than the hollow silence of his current anguish. 

She stands in front of the superhero movies for a long time, unsure which one to pick. Which superhero he’d want most right now. 

In the end, she decides to give him several all at once, reaching for The Avengers where it sits on the top shelf with the rest of the As. 

She startles when she finds herself bumping against another body, one that is reaching over her and nicking the very last copy of The Avengers from the high spot. 

Regina scowls and turns to face the person she’s going to have to battle for the film, finding herself face to face with none other than her pain in the ass Head of Parks, Robin Locksley. 

She scowls, hackles rising immediately (this man gets under her skin like no other, what with his arrogance, and his snarky humor, and those dimples and blue eyes that make her heart do ridiculous floppy things while she’s supposed to be loathing him). 

“That’s mine,” she tells him, pointing to the DVD. 

Robin looks down, feigning a frown and giving the case a little rattle. “It appears to be mine, Madam Mayor. And I have to say, it’s not what I’d have expected from you.” 

“My son likes superheroes,” she tells him tartly. “And I was reaching for it. You had to have seen that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting back a smirk (he probably is, smug bastard), “Maybe. To be honest, I assumed you were reaching for Bourne. Hunky action hero and all that.”

She narrows her eyes and lies, “I don’t watch ‘hunky action heroes.’”

“No, no,” he nods gamely. “You go for the foreign films, no doubt. Or the documentaries. Maybe the Best Picture winners. But nothing so frivolous as car chases and shoot outs.”

He’s teasing her, she knows that, but she is simply not in the mood. Not today, nor after the week she’s had. So she doesn’t taunt him back, doesn’t find some cutting remark for him, doesn’t do anything except sigh and hold out her hand expectantly as she repeats, “That’s my movie. Hand it over.”

“You know, my son likes superheroes too,” he reasons. 

“Your son is _three_ ,” Regina shoots back, managing the energy to return fire on an excuse that ridiculous. Roland is a little cherub of a boy, all Daddy’s dimples, and dark floppy curls, and sweet smiles—and far too young for action movies. 

“And loves The Hulk,” Robin shrugs. “But I could perhaps be persuaded to give up the DVD. For a price.”

“I am not naming that strip of the waterfront protected park land,” she sighs wearily. He’s been trying to convince her for years, and she’s not giving in over a DVD, no matter how badly she wants it. 

“Nothing so big as that,” he dismisses. “I was only going to ask if you’d join me for dinner sometime.”

“You—what?”

She can’t have heard that right. 

“You’re a brilliant woman, Regina, and you keep me on my toes. I like that. I’d like to discover more things I might like about you.”

“I… It’s _Madam Mayor_ ,” she tells him, regretting immediately when she sees the briefest flicker of rejection cross his face before he smooths his expression into that same blithe confidence he always wears. “And…” She thinks of Graham, of what they have and don’t have, and stumbles over the confession, “There’s… someone. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

To say the least. 

“I see,” Robin nods, absorbing this latest revelation, and adding, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by asking.”

“No,” she rushes to insist, for reasons she cannot fathom, because she does not _like_ this man (but oh, those blue eyes, and the way they crinkle at the corners when he smiles at her denial). “Your interest is… flattering. It’s just…”

She thinks of Henry, at home, alone and silent, and tells herself to shake off any foolish thoughts of flirtation and courtship. Her son needs her right now, and that’s what matters. 

“It’s not a good time,” she finishes. And that should be that, but her tongue keeps moving, confessing, “Henry’s… dealing with some things right now. I don’t have time for…”

She gestures between them, as if that will be enough to explain her meaning. 

It must do, because his expression warms and softens, his eyes going somehow more blue. And then he tips that DVD toward her, holds it out in his hand, and she frowns. 

She’s still swimming in the blue of his eyes, but she frowns, her hand lifting to the other edge of the DVD and gripping it. 

“I didn’t accept,” she points out. 

“I know,” Robin tells her. “But superheroes give us hope in hard times, and it sounds like your boy could use that a bit more than mine. And besides, Roland _is_ a bit young for The Hulk.”

She laughs softly at that, an unexpected little bubble of mirth rising to pop in her throat. Her head drops down as she does it, and that’s when she sees it. 

The laughter fizzles out, her gaze zeroed in on the too-familiar pattern of black ink bared by his rucked up sleeve. 

She’s seen it a hundred times in her dreams, her nightmares, and for a moment she feels very young and very far away. Her breath stills, and her head spins, and then his fingers leave the DVD in fingers gone so slack with shock that she nearly bobbles the DVD case. 

Robin Locksley, her pain in the ass Head of Parks, is her _soulmate_. 

When she looks up at him again, his head is tilted curiously, and she thinks he asks if she’s alright, she’s looking a bit pale, but she doesn’t hear it through the buzzing in her brain. 

She only blinks, and nods, and says, “Thanks for this,” tucking the DVD under her arm and then heading for the door without even so much as a goodbye. 

She makes it halfway home before she realizes she never paid for the damn movie rental, something she regrets event further when she checks her cell phone later and sees a message from LOCKSLEY HEAD OF PARKS:

_I covered your rental. Someday, when it’s a better time, perhaps you’ll pay me back with a drink._

She thinks of the tattoo again, of the years between when she first saw it and now. Who she was then, who she’s become. 

Would he even be right for her now?

It’s a question for another day, a better time, she decides. 

And then she puts Robin Locksley out of her mind and pours all her attention into Henry, and popcorn, and heroics. 

It doesn’t help. 


	2. Much Ado About Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Much Ado About Nothing

He never should have taken Intro to Shakespeare.

Never.

It had seemed, at the time, an easy A. After all, it would be quicker to read plays than novels, and he’d needed a 200-level literature course. How hard would it be to read a few plays, even if they were written in iambic pentameter?

Of course, that was before he’d discovered Professor Mills was a hardass. A distractingly beautiful, criminally intelligent hardass, who wears those snug pencil skirts, and smartly-buttoned blouses, and those tight slacks with tall boots in a way that is utterly distracting to any man (and quite a few women if the classroom gossip is to be believed) that sits for her lectures.

How’s a man supposed to pay attention to the affairs of long-dead kings and the historical context thereof when she has that bloody button straining every time she leans against the lectern?

So, it turns out, Intro to Shakespeare has _not_ been an easy A. It’s as much a history course as it is a lit credit, and, well, he’s never been that much of a reader in the first place. And while he can surely enjoy a Baz Luhrmann-ed _Romeo + Juliet_ , actually _reading_ the bloody plays is a right snooze.

He’s barely scraping by with a C as it is, and he’s come to rely on the many, many adaptations of the Bard’s plays to screen in order to even manage that.

So he finds himself at the video store on a Wednesday night, squinting along the shelves as he searches for a movie version of the play he has to write an essay on by Thursday morning’s lecture.

He spots it, finally— _Much Ado About Nothing_. It seems his mates for the night will be Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, and most likely a large pizza and a few beers to ease the burden of notetaking.

What he _doesn’t_ spot, unfortunately, is the woman three feet to his left, frowning shrewdly at him as he peruses the back cover of the DVD.

Maybe it’s because she’s not all done up in her usual skirts and boots, but he is entirely oblivious to the presence of one Professor Regina Mills until she closes the gap between them and greets knowingly, “Mr. Locksley.”

Robin jumps a mile, the DVD slipping from his fingers to the floor with a thunk and clatter that makes her laugh and shake her head. She bends to pick it up, then straightens again with the case clutched firmly in her grasp, and Robin can’t help the sweep of his gaze over her from tip to toe.

She’s in jeans (who’d have imagined she owned such a thing?) and a jumper that looks soft enough to touch (though he’d never dare), her makeup is soft, tinted lip balm instead of her usual lacquers in berry and red. It’s like an entirely different Regina Mills standing right there in front of him, and Robin wonders what she looks like on the weekend. At home. Wonders if there’s a level of casual beyond even this.

She taps the DVD case against her fingers and questions, “Loved it so much you wanted to see the film?”

Robin clears his throat and lies, “Yes. One of the best.”

“Mm. Which part spoke to you the most?”

“Oh, the uh… The love story, of course.”

There is a love story in this one, he knows it.

Still, Professor Mills lifts one brow slowly, utterly unconvinced and they both know it. “Which one?” she wonders.

Shit.

He’d only just skimmed the back cover, and he’d daydreamed about a particular blue dress with a zip that she’d been wearing through the whole lecture that covered the play. So he has a blurry cloud of names in his head but no real confidence of how they fit together. Still, he tries, tells her, “Hero, and uh, Benedict.”

She smirks, shakes her head, and tells him dryly, “You know, you’d do well in this class if you spent as much time reading as you do daydreaming your way through lectures and cracking jokes. This isn’t a cinema course; it’s literature. You’re expected to _read_ the plays.”

Caught, Robin ducks his head slightly, scratching the back of his neck as he grimaces. “I know, I just… I find when you’re the one lecturing, I have a difficult time absorbing anything, and I’ve never been a great reader.”

Her spine straightens, making her feel taller even in her flats (who knew she was so bloody _short?_ ), her presence crowding him suddenly even though she’s not moved a step closer.

“And what exactly about my teaching style do you find such a challenge, Mr. Locksley?” she questions sharply. “Or is just that you struggle with women in positions of authority?”

“Neither,” he rushes to assure her, because he hadn’t meant that at all. At all. He probably shouldn’t say what he _does_ think, but he’d rather she think him a bit of a lech than a sexist git, so he admits, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and when you get to talking about all of this, you light up in a way that… I could listen to you talk about Shakespeare all day, every day, but I find that I don’t always remember the particulars as much as I remember… you.”

She’s settled a bit into her shoes again, her fingers drumming once against the plastic of the DVD case as she lifts her brows and swallows and turns her head just a bit. “That’s… flattering but inappropriate, Mr. Locksley. I don’t date students.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he points out. “I just didn’t want you to think I don’t respect you. I do. I think you’re brilliant. I’ve just… got a bit of a crush, that’s all.”

Her lips purse slightly, almost a smirk but not quite, and she opens her mouth to say something, but it’s cut off by a soft shout of, “Mom!” from a young man that comes barreling around the aisle and straight up to Professor Mills, asking her if he can please, pretty please, get _two_ movies this time, because he’s been trying to decide between _Avengers: Infinity War_ and _Iron Man_ for ten minutes, and he just can’t choose.

Robin blinks. She has a _child_. Somehow in all the things he’d imagined about her (and rest assured, they’d been plentiful) he’d never imagined _that_.

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s fine,” she tells the boy with a softness he’s never heard from her before.

And then the young man (he’s maybe ten? Twelve? Robin’s not sure…), looks at him and asks, “Who’s this?”

“This is Robin,” she answers, and it occurs to him this is probably the first time he’s ever heard her use his first name. He likes it. A lot. “He’s a student of mine.”

“Oh. Cool,” her son replies, before volunteering, “I’m Henry.”

“Hello, Henry; it’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Henry replies, and then he makes Robin’s brows shoot to his hairline when he asks, “Do you want to date my mom?”

“Henry!” Professor Mills scolds, more flustered by that than she had been by Robin’s bumbling confession of how attractive she is. There’s a pink flush creeping up from under the collar of her sweater, and she dismisses the boy with a sharp, “Go pick your movies—now!”

Henry grimaces and shuffles off to do as ordered, and Robin watches her take a breath and let it out before she says, “I’m so sorry. He’s… He’s a wonderful boy, but he’s decided I’ve been single too long and he’s taken it upon himself to change that. By whatever means necessary, apparently, including asking out my nineteen year old students.”

Robin chuckles and nods, but corrects, “Twenty-three. I took a gap year, and I’m a senior.”

Her head tilts slightly at the confession, like she’s reconsidering him, and Robin wonders if maybe he _could_ hit on her now without the layer of awkwardness that had been there before, when she’d thought he wasn’t even of legal drinking age. But he decides not to risk it, and says instead, “He seems like a good kid. And I’m sorry, I find it hard to believe you have trouble finding dates.”

“I’m a single mom, and work takes up a lot of my time. It’s not that I _can’t_ find dates, I just… don’t.” She clears her throat again and adds, “And we shouldn’t be talking about this.”

So ‘no’ on the flirting, then.

“Right. Sorry. Inappropriate.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you need to get back to your son, and I should…”

Robin trails off, glancing down at the DVD still clutched in her hand.

“Go home, read the play, and get started on your essay?” Professor Mills finishes for him, head cocked in challenge.

“I don’t suppose you’d let this one slide?” he attempts, smiling imploringly if for no other reason than he’s been told his dimples are an unfair advantage.

And they must be—sort of—because she lets out a breath and offers a compromise. “I will give this back to you— _if_ you give me a thousand words by next week’s lecture on your opinion of the movie adaptation as compared to the play as written.”

It’s not exactly _un_ fair. After all, it’ll give him a few more days’ grace to read the bloody thing, even if she knows this week’s essay will be based on the film. But it’s still another thousand words of writing to do, and either way he has to read the damn thing.

And he shouldn’t, should _not_ , make the suggestion that he does, but Robin simply can’t help it: “How about an oral exam, over coffee. Wednesday next. We can discuss the differences then.”

“Mm. You sure it won’t be too hard to concentrate with me sitting across the table from you?” she taunts, dryly.

Robin shrugs and says, “Not if you show up in jeans and a jumper instead of those leather boots.”

She scoffs a tiny laugh, shakes her head, and says, “Fine. But I’m going to ask you so many questions you’ll wish you’d taken the essay.”

“I look forward to it.”

“And I expect you to stop half-assing my class. From now on, no more skipping the reading and skating by on SparkNotes and film versions.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he swears. “I’ll be a studious reader from now on.”

They part ways moments later, but Robin holds up his end of the bargain.

And over the weeks that follow, he learns to love Shakespeare after all.


	3. The da Vinci Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wild Card: The da Vinci Code

It’s odd, isn’t it, to see people out of their usual element? Running into your old teacher buying peaches in the grocery store, or stumbling across your dentist at a football game. The barista who serves your coffee every day two treadmills down from you at the gym.

Everyone seems to have their place in life, their little moments, their little boxes that you pop open for a moment, then close and walk away. For you, they exist in those spaces and those spaces alone, their boxes neatly closed until the moment you open them again to find them waiting just as expected. The teacher is forever in his classroom, the doctor forever in her office. That barista always behind the counter when you walk in the door at 8:15.

And him.

Salt-and-pepper hair and a bit of scruff on his chin, messenger bag slung around a well-built (but not _too_ well-built) frame, blue eyes always so… focused. And always, always a book in his hand. He boards the metro every morning on the stop after hers, and if she’s lucky there’s a space open beside her, or a spare strip of pole in her vicinity for him to grasp as he reads, and she can inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne for several stops before she leaves him behind to head to the office.

He’s out of his box tonight. Standing two aisles away from her at the video store as she hunts swiftly for just the right DVD to use as an ice breaker.

It’s jarring, as such moments often are. He exists from 7:40 until 8:10 every morning, and then poofs into oblivion the moment she walks away. He doesn’t peruse her neighborhood video store on a Thursday evening, looking for something to go with that single bag of microwave popcorn he’s been holding.

But, it seems, he _does_. And Regina isn’t going to look a gift hottie in the mouth.

If the world is plopping him down in front of her like this, she’s not going to miss a chance to make her move.

She spies the movie she wants— _The Da Vinci Code_ —and nabs it from the shelf, before heading back in the direction she’d spied him and praying he hasn’t left in the time it took her to find it.

He’s moved—two feet further down the aisle—but he’s still there, scowling over the rows of covers before him, one hand cupping his chin as he scrutinizes his options.

Regina takes a deep breath, and strides purposefully down the aisle, her heart thudding as she approaches. And then she realizes she’s being utterly ridiculous and stops in her tracks.

What on earth is she doing? What is she going to say to him? Is she really—was she really planning to— _invite him over to watch this movie with her?_ This man she doesn’t know, this complete stranger?

God, she’s a Dateline special waiting to happen; how could she be so foolishly fanciful?

She’s going to walk away, right now. She’ll just… she’ll just talk to him tomorrow morning on the train. Or… not. Maybe she won’t, maybe she will just enjoy the fantasy version of him, in his little box, all his secrets locked away in there with him, never to disappoint her. That would probably be best.

So. She’s going to leave.

But then he looks up at her (and of course he does, because she’d catwalked her way down that aisle and then just screeched to a halt; who _wouldn’t_ wonder about that?), and she’s stuck. Nailed to the floor by those blue eyes, and the way his head tilts, a flicker of something in his eyes before his brow knits and he asks, “Is everything alright?”

Shit.

“I, uh… Yes,” she recovers (sort of). “I was just…” And she’s lost again. She feels heat creep up her chest, flush its way toward her neck, and her mind just… quits. She’s a bright, educated woman, a leader, but for a moment she can’t think of a single thing to say except the truth. So she blurts that out like an idiot: “I was going to ask you out.” She lifts the DVD case lamely, and finishes (even more lamely), “I was going to ask you to watch this movie with me.”

“I see,” he says, nodding, the corner of his mouth tipping up to reveal a dimple that makes her knees go weak. Who knew he could get _more_ attractive? And then he speaks, and she realizes he’s British, and the crush intensifies. “Wouldn’t that be easier to do with a bit less distance?”

Well, that’s not a “no,” at least.

His flirting (that is definitely flirting, right?) gives her confidence a little boost, and Regina digs the nails out of her feet and closes the distance until she can smell the hint of pine that surrounds him.

“It would be,” she agrees, “But then I realized that I don’t really know you, and a movie date is… Well, a movie date is traditional, a _home_ movie date is…”

“Less so?”

“Risky,” she finishes. “And has too many variables. Your place or mine? Dinner or popcorn? Nice guy or serial killer?”

He laughs at that one, revealing straight white teeth, and a second dimple to match the first.

“Now that I think on it, it does seem rather a gamble, yes,” he agrees, his body shifting more towards hers, his gaze sweeping up and down (thank God she’d made her movie run on the way home instead of stopping off first to put on leggings and comfy boots). “But I can assure you—not a serial killer.”

“What a relief,” she teases back, relaxing enough to explain, “I see you on the red line every morning, and you’re always reading Dan Brown. I’ve always wanted to… say hello. But I hate— _hate_ —being interrupted while I’m reading, and, honestly, being spoken to during my commute at all.” He chuckles at that, and she grins back, finishing, “So I never have—said hello—just in case you’d find it more annoying than attractive. But then I saw you here tonight, sans book, and I thought… Well, it seemed a bit like… fate?” The second the word leaves her mouth, she sees her mother’s sneering face, and wishes she could swallow it back. Instead, she rushes to dismiss it, “That’s crazy, isn’t it? Forget I said that.”

“No, it’s not crazy,” Handsome Metro Man assures her. “I believe in fate. What else could explain the gorgeous woman who gets off the stop before mine and smells like… God, I don’t even know what it is, but it sticks in my nose for half the morning and has me daydreaming about you.”

“It’s Ralph Lauren,” she tells him, “And you’re lying. You always have your nose tucked in a book; you’ve never noticed me.”

“You’re always puzzling out your Sudoku on your phone, but you noticed me,” he points out, and, well… That’s true. “And any man would be hard-pressed not to notice _you_.”

Oh. Well, then. Regina swallows heavily and tries to absorb the compliment with some semblance of grace.

And then she mock-scolds, “You know, it’s rude to read over people’s shoulders,” hoping her smirk makes it clear that she doesn’t mind just this once.

“My apologies, milady, I’m curious by nature,” he tells her, then nods toward the DVD and says, “And if you’re nervous I might kill you on the first date, we could save the movie for date two or three.”

“I’d like that,” she nods, a little flock of butterflies rioting pleasantly in her chest. “Maybe dinner for date one? You can tell me what you love so much about Dan Brown.”

“It’s the history,” he admits. “And the culture—the interweaving of art, and religion, and _conspiracy_. I love a good conspiracy; there’s no way Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.”

She laughs, and shakes her head, and says, “Ah. You’ll have to convince me of that one.”

“I will. Over dinner.”

“Perfect,” she nods, well aware that she’s grinning like a fool at this point, but not entirely able to care about it. “I look forward to being informed.”

“I’ll bring the supplementary materials—you know I love books.” His expression sobers for a moment as he adds, “As long as you don’t mind a man with a child.”

Regina’s smile softens from a megawatt beam down to a loving glow, as she tells him, “My son means everything to me.”

A little current of understanding, of shared purpose, ignites between them.

“My boy is four,” he tells her.

She answers, “Mine’s ten.”

“Robin.”

“Regina.”

“That’s a lovely name; it suits you, Regina.”

And so it begins.

His little box grows a little bigger—expands to include her cell phone, and a cozy Italian place with a great risotto, and two weeks later her living room as they finally watch that movie together.

And then one day, not too far down the line, he outgrows it altogether.


	4. Zootopia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Zootopia

He shouldn’t tease her. He really, really shouldn’t.

It’s probably sexist or something like that. At the very least, he knows it annoys her. And yet, the fact that it gets a rise out of her is exactly what makes it so irresistible. He loves the way that little flicker of irritation makes her eyes flash, the way those soft lips look when they purse with derision.

It’s probably not the best way to go about flirting (they’re not on the schoolyard, after all), and he probably shouldn’t be flirting with her _at all_ , considering. Workplace romances are never a good idea, and probably even less so when you’re both in a job that risks you getting shot at. It wouldn’t do to be on patrol with her and lose his head because she’s in peril. Or worse, _not_ be with her and get another call that the woman he loves isn’t going to make it home from her shift this time. 

Once was far more than enough for that experience. 

So you’d think he’d know that dating one of the rookies in the precinct would be a very bad idea.

And yet.

He can’t help the verbal sparring, not when he knows how snappy her wit can be. Not when their banter has made him feel more like himself than he has in a very long time. 

So he gives in, once again, and steps up beside her as she reads the back cover of the _Zootopia_ DVD, teasing, “Looking for inspiration?”

Her eyes roll before she even looks at him, that look of irritation on her face as she sighs, “Locksley.”

“Officer Mills,” he greets in kind. And then he nods toward the DVD and says, “She reminds me of you, you know. Judy Hopps.”

One dark brow lifts and she snarks, “Think I’m a ‘dumb bunny,’ do you?”

“No,” Robin shakes his head. “Determined and tenacious, actually. Top of your class, right?” She nods. “And not satisfied with the grunt work you’ve been given to cut your teeth on.”

“It’s a waste of time,” she gripes bitterly. “I have what it takes to do this job, you know.”

“I’ve never doubted that for a minute, Mills,” he tells her sincerely. 

The scowl she’s been wearing softens into a frown that’s a bit more sulky as she grumbles, “Tell that to Sergeant Gold.”

“Gold’s a son of a bitch,” Robin dismisses. “And even though he’s a favoritist bastard, I know for a fact he's trying to avoid any accusations of nepotism, you being the mayor’s daughter and all. There were concerns you'd be coddled.”

Mills scoffs lightly, shaking her head and saying, “Good to know Mother's shadow seems to be inescapable, even in the precinct. She hates that I do this—that I’m a cop. When I told her I’d joined the academy, she was furious. She tried to get them to flunk me out.”

“But you were too good?”

That spark he so enjoys lights up in her eyes again, her mouth tightening into a satisfied smirk as she says, “Damn right I was.”

“See?” Robin taps the cover of the DVD she’s still holding. “Judy Hopps.”

She rolls her eyes again, but she’s smiling this time, a little bit of fire straightening her spine as she retorts, “You’re like that fox, you know. A slick asshole who manages to redeem himself by being annoyingly helpful.”

Robin laughs, shaking his head, and telling her, “I’ll take it. He and the bunny end up good friends.”

That seems to give her pause, an expression flickering over her face that he can’t quite read. She’s suspicious when she asks, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Aren’t I usually?” Robin wonders.

“No, usually you’re a pain in the ass.” And then she looks like she’s realized she’s mouthed off to a senior officer (and not for the first time in the last few minutes), so she adds a barely-sincere, “No offense.”

“None taken; we’re off the clock,” Robin assures her. “And I’m being nice to you because I like you, Mills.”

“Do you go out of your way to irritate all the women you like?”

“No, just the special ones.”

“Well, it’s not very attractive,” she tells him tartly. “And also not very appropriate, all things considered.”

“Believe me, I’ve considered that,” he mutters against his better judgement. 

He shouldn't say things like that, not to her, not to someone he outranks. Her chin tips up slightly, eyes going a bit wary and too knowing. “Oh. You don’t just mean you like me, you mean you _like_ me.”

Shit. He should have kept his mouth shut. 

“I do,” he digs himself deeper, “You’re attractive and smart and witty—but I'm never going to try anything; you don’t need to worry about that. For one, Gold would hate it, and you’ve only just started your career. I respect you too much to see you get tangled up in some workplace fraternization rumor right off the bat.”

She relaxes then, telling him, “I appreciate that, thank you.”

“Of course. And third, it’s… risky. Getting involved with another cop.”

She nods slowly, and says, “I’m sorry about your wife.”

No need to wonder if the rumor mill has been active in _his_ regard. 

Before he can respond to her condolences, she takes a breath and confesses, “My college boyfriend, Daniel, was killed his first week on the force. He interrupted a robbery at a bodega, and things went south.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin tells her, feeling a sudden and deeper kinship with her at the revelation they’ve both known the gutting loss of someone in the line of duty. 

She lifts a shoulder, lets it fall, a shrug that is meant to be dismissive but doesn’t manage to be at all. “It’s why I decided to do this. To honor his memory, and help people the way he always wanted to.”

“That's admirable. He’d be proud of you,” Robin tells her, even though he knows nothing of the man she’d loved except how she lost him. She takes a deep breath, and he can tell the mood is rapidly shifting to something far too serious, so he brings them back around with an offer, “And if you’d like company watching your movie, I’ll have you know it’s my son’s absolute favorite and we always order pizza and watch movies on Friday nights—that’s why I’m here, to pick our movie of the week. He’d love to meet a real-life Judy and watch _Zootopia_ with her.”

She laughs a little at that, soft and half-hearted, but it’s a turn back in the right direction at least. 

And then she teases, “Are you sure he won’t be disappointed by my lack of floppy ears and cottontail?”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive your shortcomings, yes.”

Mills laughs softly again, and he decides that he likes her laugh. It’s a good laugh, one he’d like to hear more often.

So when she says, “Are you sure I wouldn’t be imposing? If it’s tradition, I don’t want to be some stranger intruding on the routine.”

“It’s not an imposition, I promise,” he assures. “After all, Officer Hopps, we’re destined to be friends, right? You and the sly fox.”

She rolls her eyes again, amused but also a bit judgy if he does say so himself. 

What she tells him is, “If you say so,” like she’s not as keen on the idea as he is. But Mills joins them nearly every Friday night from then on, so Robin thinks perhaps he was onto something, pain in the ass or not.


	5. Coco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Coco

She’s not sure if she should say anything. They haven’t spoken much since, well, since everything, and while she doesn’t think they’re on _bad_ terms, she’s not sure if they’re on particularly _good_ ones either. She knows it’s been… too long. 

But word travels, so she knows that his wife passed away, and she has just enough polite breeding (and, okay, maybe some lingering non-platonic feelings) that she cannot spy him at the back of the video store on a Saturday afternoon and _not_ offer her condolences. 

So she swallows down her misgivings, takes a deep breath, and walks over to where he’s studying the animated titles with a frown. Her voice is soft as she says his name, “Robin?” Like she’s unsure if it’s really him; like she could ever be unsure of him. 

He turns and smiles warmly at her, says her name in that way he always had (it still gives her butterflies, even now). 

Regina lets out the breath she’d been holding and nods, her fingers tightening on her little stack of DVDs.

“It’s certainly been an age,” he tells her, and oh, she has missed his voice. So much. 

She tries to keep her own casual as she agrees, “It has. Too long.”

“Definitely.”

“I heard about Marian,” she tells him, full of sympathy. “How are you?” 

 

His face falls—not the shuttered grief she’d expected, but irritation, and for a moment she thinks maybe she shouldn’t have ventured down such a fraught path. But then he grumbles, “Tired of answering that bloody question, I can tell you that.”

And she’s been there, she understands that, so she just offers a sympathetic, “Sorry. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s… it’s alright,” he sighs. “I’m managing. We’re managing. Roland is…” Robin lets out another heavy breath, his attention shifting to the wall of kids’ movies. Regina waits him out. “He doesn’t really… understand. I think. Or, he doesn’t know how to process? I’m not sure. He just wants his Mama, and he doesn’t understand why she can’t be here for him.” His attention flits back at her as he says, “And before you suggest therapy, I—“

“I suggest this,” she interrupts, shifting a DVD from her pile and holding it out to him. 

Robin scowls down at it. “ _Coco_?”

“It’s about the Day of the Dead,” she explains. “About family, and remembering people, and… loss. But it’s hopeful, and beautiful—and funny. Maybe it’ll help him, imagining that she’s still there, watching over you from the other side.”

The case slips slowly from her grasp into his, and Regina takes a selfish moment to absorb the sight of him from up close as he turns the DVD over to read the description on the back. His hair has gone grayer, more silver around the temples, and there are new wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His shoulders look a bit broader, maybe, than she remembers them being when she used to run her hands over them while they—did things she shouldn’t be thinking about considering he’s a recent widower. 

Regina decides to study the wall of DVDs beside them instead of the man in front of her. Safer territory.

“Does Henry like it?” Robin asks her, finally, and Regina nods. 

“Loves it. It’s on his Christmas list this year.” 

She watches Robin glance at the wall, squinting past her for a moment. “This is the last one?” he asks, clearly having spied its space on the shelf. 

“Yeah. But you can have it.”

Robin shakes his head and tries to hand it back to her, insisting, “I don’t want to take a movie from your boy—”

“It was for me,” she tells him, not letting him go all chivalrous on her. “Daddy’s death was thirteen years ago tomorrow. I thought I’d watch it after Henry went to bed and have a good cry. Please—save me from myself.”

Robin chuckles, the sight of his dimples making something in her chest go tight. 

“You’re sure?”

“Roland needs it more than I do,” she nods. “I insist.”

Robin relents, thankfully, reaching out to grasp her hand and give it a squeeze as he tells her, “I appreciate it. And I’m sure he will, too.”

The contact makes her heart ripple again, and she can’t keep herself from squeezing back, her thumb rubbing down the length of his. 

She should really go. Clearly them being on casual speaking terms like this is making her traitorous heart run off with itself, and it’s entirely inappropriate, all things considered. 

She lets his hand drop and says, “I should get going. I need to get Henry from the arcade. But it was good to see you.”

“You, too,” he agrees, lifting the DVD and saying, “Thank you, again.”

“Of course.”

She turns to go before she says or does something stupid—it’s good to leave things like this. Happy, simple, friendly.

But she hasn’t made it more than three steps before he’s calling out to her again—“Regina!”

She stops, turns. “Yes?”

“Would you, um…” He grimaces slightly, like what he’s about to ask is difficult, or at the very least awkward. “Would you maybe like to get coffee sometime? Catch up properly?”

“I, um… Sure. Yes,” she agrees, although that’s probably a recipe for disaster. “That would be nice.”

“I could really use someone who’s been through this,” he says, the shadow of fresh grief darkening behind his eyes. “It’s… harder than…”

“Yeah,” she breathes, putting him out of his misery before he has to put words to it. “It is. My number’s the same—call anytime.”

“I will.”

“Tell Henry… Well. Maybe don’t tell him anything, but… I’m glad you guys are good.” He nods toward the DVDs she’s still holding and says, “Enjoy your movies.”

“You, too.”

And then she really does leave, her heart somehow lighter for having seen him, despite the ache she can’t quite manage to get rid of.

Robin calls her a week later, telling her that _Coco_ is Roland’s new favorite film, that he even insisted they create an ofrenda to put Marian’s picture on, and that Regina owes him a drink for the amount of times he’s had to pretend not to cry at the end of it. 

They make that coffee date for the next Saturday, and it helps. Things begin to mend.


	6. The Sound of Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Sound of Music

Of all the movies she expected to see Rob Locksley, her head of Parks, carrying around the video rental store, _The Sound of Music_ was definitely not one of them. 

And yet, here he is. Ten years into this curse, clutching a VHS copy of the musical as he stands in front of her in the check-out line on a Sunday afternoon. 

The need to needle him over it is insurmountable. 

She leans forward, her voice low and catty as she taunts, “Are the hills around Storybrooke alive with the sound of music, Locksley?”

As usual, he’s unfazed by her opening shot. He just turns, smirks at her, and says, “Not yet, Madame Mayor, but tonight, hopefully. Landon’s been asking about it for days and I seem to have lost my copy.”

“I’m surprised you own it,” she tells him. “I figured you lived out in that shack in the woods like Henry David Thoreau.”

He makes a face at her, then, a sort of squinty glare that has her stating archly, “He’s a philosopher. He wrote—”

“ _Walden_ , yes, I know. It’s a favorite of mine.”

“Ah, the world rights itself.”

“Do you really think I just sit at home and read books all day?” he questions, squinting a bit in a way that makes the blue of his eyes pop in a way she finds irritatingly attractive. “Keep Landon up in the evening by candlelight reading him fairytales instead of watching Peter Pan and Mary Poppins on TV?”

“I don’t think about you much at all,” she dismisses. 

Rob just shakes his head at her.

“You wound me,” he teases. “I shall endeavor to send you more emails outside of business hours to ensure I stay on your mind.”

“Not if you want that waterfront for the parks department,” she warns. “For every weekend correspondence, I’ll find another hoop for you to jump through to earn my signature.”

“Glad to see ethics are alive and well in the Town Hall,” Robin jabs as they move a step closer to the register.

The insinuation of impropriety rankles Regina, has her muttering, “Watch it, Locksley. I _am_ your boss, you know.”

“I serve at Your Majesty’s pleasure,” he parries blithely, and Regina’s spine straightens even further. It’s been a long, long time since anyone has used that title with her, and it makes the back of her neck heat.

“It’s Madam Mayor,” she bites. “And ‘pleasure’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

He shifts his tape from one hand to the other and sighs, “I see I’ve irritated you.”

“As per usual,” Regina snips, adjusting her purse over her shoulder and clutching her copy of _Arsenic and Old Lace_ a little more tightly against her chest.

“I’ll remind you that you’re the one who initiated a conversation—”

“Clearly a mistake.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then the line shifts again and he seems to think better of it, turning his attention away from her and to the dwarf behind the counter. Regina stares a hole into the back of his head as he pays and leaves without another word to her.

On Monday morning, there’s another request about the waterfront on her desk. 

She moves it to the bottom of the pile, just because she can.


	7. Arsenic and Old Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Arsenic and Old Lace

They come here together now, with their sons.

Every Monday after school, they pick up Roland—no, _Landon_ (he still trips over it, now and then, with both of his lives tumbling about in his head)—and Henry from school and head to the video store to pick their weekly movies. They always get three—the boys each make a selection, Regina and Robin alternate weeks.

They’ll do a double-header together tonight, both of the boys’ choosing, something suitable for the whole family while they chow down on pizza and sugary soda pop. A way to make Monday feel less unbearable for them all after the carefree weekend days.

It’s a wonderful start to the week, and something he’s come to treasure—something they never could have had if she hadn’t plucked them all from their land and dropped them into this one. He’s tried, over time, to find ways to focus on the positives of her vengeance—penicillin, and warm, insulated homes, and every constituent’s full belly. She is, as it turns out, a rather fair and giving leader—a hardass, for certain, but she _cares._ More than he ever could have imagined she was capable of when he was avoiding her Black Knights, Regina is a leader who wants to see her people well done by. Housed, and clothed, and successful.

Even if they don’t always enjoy the rigidity she uses to keep them that way.

At least, he tells himself, she’s stopped killing them to keep order.

At least, he whispers to his conscience when he looks around and sees everyone he knew and loved existing in a fog of magic, they no longer fear for their lives.

He feels guilt and gratitude in equal measure, knowing what he knows, knowing who she is, but he also feels a ridiculous amount of love. For her. For their little family. For this life they’re living, even if it’s shrouded in falsehoods that grate at his sense of honor.

Things are beginning to bleed here, though, more and more every day. Little bits of what was showing through the cracks of the town she’d made, and he wonders if it’s just for him. Just them. Or if they others see it, too.

If they’ll wake before too long, and bring this all crashing down around her. Around them.

Perhaps he’s put himself and his son in terrible danger by loving her. Be standing by her.

But he can’t bring himself to leave.

He’s startled from his reverie by Regina’s voice beside him, light and teasing as she says, “You’re focusing awfully hard on _Titanic_ , there. It’s my week, you know.”

He chuckles, then takes a moment to absorb the sight of her, in her neat peacoat and proper slacks and high heels, her makeup done just so. It’s all battle armor, the same as her lavish dresses and kohl-rimmed eyes and wild hair had been back in the other land. It makes him want to take her home immediately, urge her to take a moment to unwind while he rings the pizza place and gets the boys all settled.

He wants to see her as he knows her—lounge pants soft as water beneath his fingertips, and one of his jumpers too loose and too long in sleeve. Makeup washed off and wiping pizza sauce from the corner of her lip.

He doesn’t give a good goddamn about the danger he’s in for loving her; he’d fight to his death to protect her from the sins of her past.

She’s not that woman anymore.

“I do know that,” he tells her, slinging an arm around her shoulder and drawing her in to press a kiss to her temple as he asks, “And what have you chosen for our Tuesday night date?”

Monday night movies may be a family tradition, but Tuesday nights are for grown-ups. Films that the boys are a bit too young for, or that would bore them to tears, watched by their parents after bedtime. They split a bottle of wine, and make themselves a little spread of cheese and fruit for snacking.

Most people long for Fridays, but not Robin. Robin loves the beginning of the week.

Regina offers up her selection for his approval (they’re both allowed to veto, but so far neither has).

 _“Arsenic and Old Lace_ ,” he reads. “I’ve not seen this one.”

“It’s a classic. About a pair of women who seek out older gentlemen, lure them to their homes, and poison them.”

She tells him all of that with an impish smirk, as if she’s daring him to make a comment about her choosing a movie about murderous women.

He lets her down, shaking his head, and muttering, “Too easy. Although I may be avoiding the wine.”

She laughs, one of those warm, open ones that makes his head swell and spill over with love for her. And as he watches her head off in search of their sons, he thinks to himself that he is more grateful than he’d ever have imagined for Evil Queens, and curses, and deception.


End file.
